A Little Unwell
by Cornerofmadness
Summary: He's making progress but at what cost?


**Title ** \- A Little Unwell

**Disclaimer ** \- As always, I own nothing.

**Timeline ** – set immediately after Episode Five

**Author's Note** –This was written for schweinsty at comment_fic for the prompt: Prodigal Son, Malcolm Bright, cry. And for whumptober 2019 for the prompt tear-stained.

_I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell__  
__I know right now you can't tell_

**Unwell-Matchbox Twenty**

XXX

The tears just wouldn't stop, leaving his tie and shirt stained with the salt of them. He ripped off his tie, like stripping off armor and tossed it next to the box of memories. His nearly malignant joy of finding the picture of the station wagon had dissolved into a crying jag which robbed him of breath. Malcolm pushed away from the table, stumbling toward the bathroom.

Hell, he hadn't been able to look in that mirror since the box of drugs had exploded all over him and he woke up, barely able to remember the night before, his head sluggish and his jaw aching. The crying reawaken the pain Dani's well-placed fist had left behind. Splashing water on his face helped some, his tears slowing. And at least there was no hallucinations awaiting him in the silvered glass this time.

Malcolm changed into his at-home casual clothing. Maybe softness would help him work his way through it. Malcolm scooped up the box and sprawled on the couch. Maybe his mother was right. This was a dumb thing to do. Was it worth the erosion of his mental state? Yes, the girl in the box deserved justice and only he could deliver it for her. Even Gil didn't believe him about her.

Picking through the precious items of his lost childhood, the tears welled up anew. Inside the battered cardboard was proof positive he'd once been a normal little boy. He'd lived a charmed life in truth, wealthy, privileged but even then, a little lonely. Kids in his peer group were very often spoiled and unpleasant, especially since he'd been a little nerdy. His father always told him his brilliance would take him far.

Not far enough, certainly not enough to escape his father's penumbra. Hand shaking hard - _I'd make an excellent martini_ \- Malcolm lifted the pictures again. This was the father he remembered, the one he adored. Part of him longed for those days when his father was his world, one he had shattered with his own hands. Why should he regret what he'd done so much? If he hadn't more people would be dead. All those innocent women, his stomach churned at the remembrance. But the longing clung to him. It made sense. Martin Whitly had been a wonderful father to him.

But now Malcolm had to wonder was any of it real? Were the father-son camping trips really just that? Had they been a cover for his father to dispose of bodies in the great outdoors while his son slept blissfully ignorant in their cabin? He had considered that, had long ago told Gil about their cabin but at that time he'd never even thought that his father had been enjoyed going into the woods just because he had ulterior motives. Now, he did. It might have to be reinvestigated. He should call on some of his associates in NecroSearch for that. He'd wanted his mother to toss a little of the family money their way. She thought it was a bit too on the nose.

Malcolm reached into the box and came away with a trilobite. His father had given this to him in Malcolm's 'I'm all about dinosaurs and fossils' phase. He'd really wanted T-Rex bones but since that was a little out of reach, he'd gotten this instead. He trailed his fingers over its slick ridges, lost in the bright spots of his childhood. He'd taken it to show and tell. A bully had snatched it from him because he'd always been small for his age, not really good at fighting back. Luckily Mrs. Mikhailovich had seen it and rescued it for him. Even back then he'd struggled with making friends for some reason. He'd given thought to reaching out to the children of BTK because he knew they'd understand the alienation, the horrible sense of judgment he and Ainsley had faced growing up. However, it felt too much like a sick fan club, so he'd never bothered. Like him, they probably just wanted to be left alone.

One thing he did remember from the night before, his puppy-dog hopefulness that Dani wanted to be his friend. That embarrassing incident was something he could have done better forgetting. Luckily, she hadn't judged, said they weren't there yet but he'd seen the deer in the headlights look. Was it just her own trust issues and difficulties with making friends or was it horror in being friends with the half-crazed son of The Surgeon? He was so out of practice with the idea of friendship, he couldn't tell.

Most days he was fine with being alone but tonight the loneliness tore at him, leaving great bloody rents in his soul. He couldn't call his sister because she would be no more understanding about any of this than their mother was. If he called his mother in tears, he'd be in for an hour of well-meaning 'I Told You Sos.' Of course, he'd have to tell Gil about his suspicions, listen to him trying to dissuade him from following phantoms. Gil would come right over and let him cry on his shoulder, but he couldn't bother his better father every time something went sideways. Oh, what he wouldn't do to have Jackie come over, wrap her arms around him, to smell a pot of her amazing browned chicken soup simmering on his stove.

Thoughts of her being gone broke him further. Malcolm shoved the box away from him and curled up on the couch until he finally ran dry. Sniffling, he levered himself up and walked to his parakeet's cage. He opened the little wire door and pushed his hand in. Sometimes he was rewarded with a little friend's claws curled around his fingers, others he'd get a peck. Tonight was a good one. He sat down gently stroking his pet's soft feathered head as it warbled for him.

The problem was he needed some companionship. JT seemed unlikely at the moment. He tried – admittedly haphazardly – to buddy up to JT but the man didn't like him, thought he didn't respect him. Malcolm still didn't understand what he'd done wrong to make JT think that. Dani and he might be entering good country as far as friendship stood. He wasn't entirely sure. He sure as hell had made things awkward between them between profiling her painful past, his drugged antics, or worse, that humiliating confession about not sleeping with people. No doubt his embarrassing flailing around trying to convince her he wasn't a virgin had amused her. It was true, he wasn't but he wasn't far removed either. Who knew his patented brand of maniac craziness mixed with blistering PTSD wasn't what women looked for in a mate? He lacked the ability to get close regardless. In the back of his mind, his asshole of a subconscious whispered 'what if regular sex brings you one step closer to being just like Daddy Dearest? Isn't sex the most common motivator of serial killers?' Yeah, his brain was awful.

Maybe Edrisa he thought suddenly. She seemed as charmingly awkward as he was. Dani already knew some of the worst of him and Edrisa probably had a good idea. Maybe he'd test the water with either of them in the future. Just friendship, no strings attached. He didn't delude himself into thinking someone wanted in the middle of his mess but someone to call when his mind wouldn't quiet? Someone to go get coffee or drinks with? He could really use that.

But that was the future and of no comfort tonight. All he had tonight was a sweetly singing parakeet, his dismal thoughts and a desperate hope that he could hold on until morning.


End file.
